


Let me take you down the corridors of my life

by carameldumpling



Category: Glee, Weeds
Genre: Angst, Drugs, F/M, Future Fic, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carameldumpling/pseuds/carameldumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She meets him on a Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me take you down the corridors of my life

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on LJ - 1 Sep 2010

She meets him on a Friday. 

It’s cold, far too cold for an April afternoon in New York. In the coffee shop it’s all soothing jazz music and yellow lights but outside it’s grey and dull. Quinn watches people walk past the shop in their suits and dresses, tucking bare hands in their pockets, hoping to stay warm. 

She’s pouring coffee for a customer – likes it black, no sugar, no creamer, loves it bitter so that the taste will stay on his tongue for ages, like a reminder of mistakes made – when he steps in, the bell attached to the door jingling a little. 

Quinn can’t help but stare when this blonde man in a smart navy pinstripe suit sits on a barstool, makes himself at home and orders a cappuccino with a bright smile. 

She’s never seen a person smile so widely in such a long time. 

: : :

His name is Mike T. Newman, and asks her to guess what the T stands for. He’s mysterious from afar, ridiculously gorgeous when up close. His eyes sparkle when he talks about how his neighbour’s dog did his business at his doorstep – Quinn’s not very sure if he’s joking about the part where he shoots the creature dead – and his leg does a little jiggle when she pauses and weighs her words before saying them out loud, as if he’s so eager to hear her speak.

He reminds her of Finn with his eyes and charming grin and manners, and he reminds her of Puck with his wit and the way he moves so confidently. 

He’s everything she should run away from – he’s everything she  _has_  run away from. Yet somehow she’s dragged into his web, ignoring the queasy feeling in her gut when the word  _entangled_  comes into her mind. 

: : :

New York has dulled Quinn’s senses. She’s surrounded by greys and black and whites, and the sounds she hears most are cars passing by as people keep on moving from one place to another. When she first came here, she felt like she was too loud, too brash. 

Lima is nothing like New York. It’s bright and sunny and everything Quinn loved once. When she goes home for Christmas her eyes hurt because there’s too much colour. Her ears burn when she hears booming laughter. 

Her heart aches when she sees her neighbour’s daughter playing with the family dog in the backyard. She just turned six, and her blonde hair flows behind her when she runs to greet her father when he comes home from work.

It’s those times that Quinn absolutely hates Lima. 

: : :

Mike’s from Agrestic, California. Quinn nods her head when he says that, hmm-ing and haw-ing at the right places. 

“I needed to get away,” he admits over an ice-blended mocha on a warmer Wednesday morning. “Sometimes you need to leave the things you love before you start to hate them.”

Quinn wishes someone gave her that advice earlier. 

: : :

They start meeting outside the little coffee shop down the corner. There’s the great eating place two streets down, the park a bus stop away, the café that only Mike can remember how to get to.

It was fun, though, going through the maze that is New York’s back streets. Quinn’s never smiled so hard like how she does at Mike’s running commentary about the buildings and the random people they pass by. 

: : :

“Why New York?” Mike asks her as they walk away from an ice cream vendor. Quinn’s got a cup of strawberry ice cream in her hand. It’s melting at breakneck speed. 

She glances at his mint scoop. “I took out a map, closed my eyes, and pointed. Landed at New York.”

Mike grins, gently taking her hand currently holding a spoonful of strawberry ice cream and helps himself. “Lucky me.”

His blue eyes don’t leave hers the entire time. 

: : :

It’s a Sunday night when he kisses her at a traffic junction. 

They’ve just finished watching a movie and he tastes of salted popcorn and Mountain Dew. Quinn’s hands sink into his hair, and she can feel the product he uses to style it. Clay, she thinks absently. Finn used wax, and the feeling’s not the same. She’s aware of his hands on her waist, pulling her closer, trying to rub the gold sequin dress into her skin.

“Mike,” she murmurs, so into it that she doesn’t notice the split second where he pauses. 

: : :

Quinn told herself that there would be no more mistakes in New York. She can’t afford to make any more mistakes. 

“They’re always out for your body,” her momma said once when she was applying for colleges – stupid, so stupid to still think that she could still lead a normal life. “And when they get tired of you, they throw you aside.” 

When Mike’s hands go under her blouse for the first time, Quinn freaks and shove him away and runs as fast as her heels allow her to.

It’s not the first Saturday evening she spends in New York sitting on the floor of her bathroom, ignoring the grime on the walls and the seemingly endless vibration of her hand phone.

: : :

“You okay?” He asks when he slides into his regular spot.

Quinn smiles as brightly as she can, which isn’t quite bright. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about the other night.”

Mike looks at her with his blue eyes. “Let’s go to a club tonight,” he finally says. “I know this great place.”

Her stomach lurches, but she nods. “I’ll meet you at eight.”

: : :

She expects the dirty dancing and the kissing and the groping, but she certainly does not expect the marijuana in the little cakes he serves her over the course of the evening. 

When he’s about to take off her panties – white with a little red bow on top, got him all caveman because it was so  _innocent_  – she closes her eyes and says  _please_ , choking on the next word because she’s too high. 

Quinn figures she must be a sight, legs spread and mouth curved into a smile, but crying as she begs a handsome man between her legs to stop. 

She’s amazed he actually does.

: : :

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as she lies motionless in his arms. Quinn can see the sun rising from the large window. There aren’t any curtains. “I’m such a horrible person.”

It’s a Tuesday when he tells her that his name isn’t even Mike.

Quinn doesn’t even look at him for at least forty-eight hours, because that’s not something you just tell a person after… something like that.

: : :

Quinn doesn’t do second chances.

Well, at least she thought she didn’t.

: : :

Silas – such a different name from  _Mike_  – stares at her as she swallows down the pancakes he made for breakfast. There’s no marijuana in it, she checked and he swore.

“You remind me of someone,” he suddenly says, wistful.

Quinn looks up from her pancakes, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me it’s the high school cheerleader you fucked.”

Silas’ mouth twitches a little, and there’s a hint of sadness behind his smirk. “Nah, she couldn’t be a cheerleader.” Quinn takes note of the word he uses. Not  _wouldn’t_  or  _didn’t want to_ , but  _couldn’t_.

“You were one though, right?” He asks, curious.

Quinn thinks of the Cheerios, backflips, football games and the smell of Finn when he runs into her arms post-game. Then she thinks of a large belly and a little pink bundle that she never quite got to touch. “I was.”

: : :

Quinn thinks that despite the horror that was him drugging her to sleep with him and how he lied to her about his  _name_ , he deserves to know. She doesn’t quite understand how her mind works nowadays. It’s functioning very much differently compared to how it did pre-Silas. 

On the days when Silas doesn’t stroll into the coffee shop as if he owns it, Quinn takes out the crumpled, tiny photo of a little blonde girl clutching a toy rabbit and thinks of what could have been. 

: : :

“I was pregnant once,” she tells him as they lie in his bed. They’re still fully clothed, like teenagers having a make out session with their parents on the other side of the door.

His hand is soothing in her hair, stroking it and making her calmer. “What happened?”

Quinn takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. “I gave her away.”

Silas doesn’t say anything. 

“I had to,” she says, as if trying to make him understand. “I had to because I wouldn’t have been able to make her happy.”

“You still keep in touch?”

Quinn shakes her head. It was her decision, to stay away from her daughter. Shelby had encouraged bonding; Quinn had run away to a whole new state. “It was too painful, to watch what was my mistake grow up into something so… so amazing. So amazing, without me.”

She doesn’t even realize that she’s shaking until Silas makes little hushing noises, a large palm rubbing her back. 

: : :

It’s a Thursday morning at Silas’ house when he comes up behind her, sleepy soft, and wraps his arms around her waist. 

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmurs in his ear as he flattens a hand on her stomach. 

He does that sometimes, when he’s between the realms of reality and a dream. Quinn can’t help but wonder who he’s really kissing good morning to sometimes.

: : :

They’re on her couch, watching TV commercial re-runs when Silas says, “Her name was Megan.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything, because he wouldn’t continue if she does.

“She was amazing. Let my stoned teenage ass become her boyfriend. And when I dumped her for the stupidest reason ever, when I went crawling back to her, she took me back.”

“What happened?”

Silas looks at the ceiling. “She got pregnant. I was so fucking happy. I was going to be a dad, you know? Saved up money to buy a fucking crib, for fuck’s sake. But her dad wasn’t too happy. Made her get an abortion.”

Quinn sucks in her breath. She can’t imagine doing that, lying there and letting someone chop up your baby into pieces. As much as Beth was a mistake, Quinn never even thought of that as an option. 

“She haunts me sometimes,” Silas admits. “When I think about my mom or my brother or my dad, I see this little girl in the corner of my eye.”

Quinn looks straight ahead. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen,” Silas sighs. “Sixteen and in love.”

They’re so similar she refuses to believe that it’s fate that brought them together.

: : :

One week later, Quinn pulls him to bed and kisses him soft and sweet, slowly unbuttoning his black dress shirt.

He pushes her away, breath heaving. “You sure, Quinn?”

She grabs her purse from the nightstand and takes out a box of extra safe condoms, waggling her eyebrows. “We can upgrade to ribbed later.”

Silas smiles the smile that blew her away that first Friday and pulls her down for a kiss. 

The black silk panties she invests in – forty bucks, made her boss raise her eyebrows when it dropped out of her bag when she rushed to pack, to go back to him – are worth it, because Silas literally  _growls_  when he sees it. 

: : :

Quinn wakes up on a late Monday morning surrounded by sheets smelling like sex. 

The other side of the bed is empty.

She closes her eyes, trying her best to ignore the feeling of pain and hurt blossoming in her chest and fighting down a sob. Stupid, stupid mistake.

“Morning, beautiful.”

She opens her eyes – if they’re slightly watery she can just blame the process of waking up – and he’s there, in the flesh, carrying a plate of toast and a cup of coffee.

Any man should look ridiculous, parading in naked, bits dangling and bobbing everywhere, but Silas doesn’t.

She just looks at him as he places the food at the nightstand before leaning over and kissing her, morning breath be damned. 

When they break apart he looks hopeful, like a little boy waiting for a present he really wants for his birthday, and Quinn runs her fingers down his face.

They’re okay for now, but maybe someday when the scars of the past have faded, when they’re ready, they can have a little blonde girl of their own to love.


End file.
